


Happy Campers

by RoseAlenko



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, F/F, F/M, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 13:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAlenko/pseuds/RoseAlenko
Summary: Eager to make some money between semesters of her law degree, Dany takes on the job of head Girls' Counselor at Camp Winterfell, but finds herself constantly at odds with the stubborn, difficult, and inconveniently good-looking Boys' Counselor, Jon Snow.





	Happy Campers

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is a little something I wrote to fill a request I got ages ago. I've never written modern Jonerys before, and this is unbeta'd, but I hope you'll like it! P.S. All credit for the hilariously appropriate title goes to my good friend, LadyTarg, who also gave me some ideas for this fic.

“You call that a swimsuit?”

Dany’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging crescent-shaped marks of frustration into her palms.

“I call it none of your business, Jon Snow,” she snapped, wading the last few feet to the shore of the lake.

“’None of your business?’ I’ve never heard of such. Is it comfortable?” he asked mockingly, his arms crossed over his bare chest. He’d apparently come out to the lake for the same reason she had, but couldn’t resist the chance to taunt her before getting in his morning swim. _Typical_.

Dany sighed as she emerged from the water, casting her most scathing violet glare Jon’s way. He was looking at her, too, though not at her face. She felt suddenly self-conscious as his eyes traveled up and down her body, taking in every inch of her wet, suntanned skin. Maybe he did have a point after all, for her red bikini now seemed skimpy and revealing, and Dany was grateful for the thick curtain of her silvery blonde hair as she pulled it over her shoulder with a wet smack and began methodically wringing it out over the grass.

“Comfortable? Why?” she asked acidly. “Hoping I’ll take it off so you might catch a peek?”

“What? No. O-of course not,” Jon sputtered. With that, he turned and marched away, apparently abandoning his swim for the archery field where the boys were having an early lesson.

 _Good riddance_ , Dany thought darkly, wrapping herself in her towel and stepping into her flip flops. She was nearing the end of her first summer as a counselor at Camp Winterfell, but on her first day she’d already decided Jon Snow was a jerk.

When Jon’s father, Ned Stark, retired, he’d made Jon the Head Boys’ counselor and hired on Dany to serve in the same position for the girls. Dany had a history of leading summer camps on the East Coast during her undergrad years and she leapt at the chance to make some extra cash between semesters of her law degree.

Past experience hadn’t prepared her for dealing with Jon’s obstinance, though; and they often disagreed over rules and measures for running the camp. They both seemed to want to hold the final authority when it came to planning events and disciplining campers. It made for plenty of disagreements which often became unpleasant, and despite his apparent dislike of her, Dany saw Jon more frequently than she could account for. It felt almost like he was watching her, following her even.

But with any luck, the unfortunate exchange by the lake would be her only interaction with him for the rest of the weekend. Dany was the girls’ chaperone for an overnight, coed hike being held for the middle-school-aged campers.

She was looking forward to it. Sure, she was in charge of a dozen giggling, often disobedient girls. But Dany loved them all, and she loved the outdoors and proper camping even more. The kind with a tent and a fire under the stars instead of being cramped inside a cabin that had a serious need for air conditioning for a place called “Winterfell.”

And beside that, the boys’ counselor for the trip, the bookish and polite Sam Tarly, was a friendly, unobtrusive sort. Not at all like his infuriating best friend, Jon.

 _But not as handsome, either_ , a traitorous voice whispered in the back of her mind. There was no getting around the fact that Jon was attractive, what with that mess of dark, shiny hair and the kind of abs you saw on models for underwear. It was unfair really, for someone like him to go around looking that good.

Dany was still frowning over her troubled thoughts when she stepped through the screen door and into her cabin. Her roommate, Sansa, was lying on her stomach in her bunk, flipping idly through a magazine and fanning herself with an envelope. She glanced up at Dany’s entrance, alerted by the bang of the screen door.

“Tough morning?” she guessed, assessing her friend’s scowl.

Dany shrugged.

“Is it so obvious?”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s about to get worse,” Sansa warned.

Dany went rigid where she was—half-dressed with some cutoff denim shorts and her bikini top unfastened and hanging haphazardly from her neck.

“Tell me,” she said cautiously.

Sansa threw her long, freckled legs over the bedside and stood up, walking over to Dany with the envelope she’d been using as a makeshift fan in her outstretched hand.

“Gilly brought this by earlier. Sam’s got poison ivy. Bad case, if she’s got it right.”

 _Oh, no_. Dany took the proffered envelope with dread. Inside was a small slip of paper with a hastily-scrawled note from Sam. She skimmed quickly over his apologies until her eyes settled on the words she’d been most dreading to read: _Jon will be filling in for me._

Dany crumpled the note angrily inside her fist. _Of course_ Jon was the one filling in.

“Oh, come on,” Sansa chided her when Dany flung the note into the wastebasket with unnecessary force. “Is he really so awful to you?”

“No,” Dany answered with a tight smile. “I suppose he isn’t _awful_.”

She really needed to stop lying to Sansa. She was Dany’s closest friend at camp. She was sweet, thoughtful, and she had a real flair for fashion. She’d handmade Dany the cutest knit cover-up only last week. But she was also Jon’s half-sister and Dany didn’t see the point in complaining to her about his behavior.

As usual, though, Sansa saw right through her.

“I can’t believe it,” she huffed. “I’m going to set him straight one of these days. I don’t know why he never listens to me. I’ve told him that you two need to get along. I can't figure out what’s gotten into him. He’s usually sort of quiet. Boring, really.”

“Oh, no, please don’t,” Dany protested quickly. “If you bring it up with him it’ll only get worse. If you really want to help me, just take my spot on the hike.”

“Not a chance,” Sansa replied, shaking her head emphatically. “I’m going skinny dipping with Margaery.”

“You’re so bad,” Dany scolded her with a grin. “Anyway, it’s looking like rain tomorrow night. Better cuddled up in a tent than out in the lake catching cold.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sansa said wistfully, wrapping her arms around herself. “I think the rain would be romantic, don’t you? Like something in a movie.”

Dany couldn’t help but laugh at Sansa's infectious excitement.

“I suppose so.”

* * *

 

Dany didn’t sleep all that night for dreading what the next day would bring. She tossed and turned fretfully long after Sansa had turned off her reading light and found her own rest. And for hours Dany simply lied on her lumpy cot, sweating in the muggy evening heat, listening to the soft sounds of her bunkmate’s breath and the song of insects hiding in the trees outside.

She sorely regretted those sleepless hours by mid-morning, the next day, well into the hike. By then the summer sun was climbing higher in the sky, the oppressive heat making their strenuous progress all the more exhausting. Weighted down by her pack, Dany would have broken a sweat even in the best of conditions. But as it was, she was well and truly drenched, her pale hair matted to her head by perspiration and her light cotton top and shorts clinging stubbornly to her moist skin.

It didn’t help that the forest featured an abundance of mosquitos and gnats to hover in ever-growing numbers around her head as she trekked resolutely along, slapping at her arms and waving them away from her face every few steps.

Despite it all, Dany struggled to keep the outward appearance of good humor. After all, she had an example to set for the girls, and since they weren’t returning to the home camp until the following evening, it was far too early to start sulking now.

But it wasn’t easy tolerating the heat, the bugs, and the wayward pre-teen girls all while managing the job of not one but _two_ chaperones; for Jon Snow was showing little interest in disciplining his rambunctious group of boys. Every time Dany chanced to glance his way he seemed distracted and preoccupied, off in another world.  

Just that morning, the one called Joffrey Baratheon had snuck up behind poor little Lyanna Mormont and dropped a toad down the back of her shirt. What he hadn’t planned on was the fiery little girl’s immediate retaliation that came in the form of a well-placed foot in his path. The oblivious boy tripped spectacularly over her hiking boot and plunged face-first into the underbrush, cursing all the way. He now had a nasty-looking rash, likely from contact with poison ivy, crawling up his neck.

“You need to pay better attention to what your campers are doing,” Dany observed, falling in step beside Jon as they made their way along the trail. The path hewn out through the trees was thinning so that they all had to fall in line, leaving some of the youngsters to dart out ahead or lag behind.

Jon’s eyes followed a few of his charges as they sprinted up to the front of the group, laughing boisterously. He sighed, shaking his head at Dany.

“They aren’t so bad,” he protested, unconcerned. “They’re just kids.”

“Most of them, perhaps,” she allowed. “But some of them are trouble. You can’t have them putting things inside little girls’ shirts! It isn’t appropriate. It’s—,”

“No, of course not,” Jon agreed hastily, sounding harassed. “But that Joffrey’s a little shit.”

Dany snorted, raising her palm to her mouth to stifle her giggles. Jon’s grumpy retorts were almost funny when they were directed at someone else. And truer words had never been spoken. The blonde little boy came from a rich family and was the oldest of his siblings. He had a nasty mean streak and a sense of entitlement to match. Worse, he seemed to enjoy nothing more than pulling pranks on the girls. ‘Little shit’ was putting it mildly.

Jon seemed surprised by her laughter and out of the corner of her eye she could see him smirking faintly.

“That he is. Still,” Dany pressed gently, taking advantage of his seeming good mood. “You need to keep a watch on him.”

Jon opened his mouth as if to argue but was cut off by a small voice that sounded from behind them.

“He was too busy staring at you, Ms. Dany.”

Dany stopped short as Jon wheeled around to face the source of the voice: Ned Umber. He’d been walking close at their heels, his thumbs hooked lazily in the straps of his blue backpack, apparently eavesdropping.

“I saw him,” he added, nodding his head confidently at Dany.

“Staring at? What—No, I wasn’t!” Jon, insisted. His face reddened noticeably at the accusation, deepening the flush he’d already gotten from the unforgiving sun.

Dany wasn’t sure how to react. Her sullen co-counselor had spent the better part of the season butting heads with her at every opportunity, and his abrasive disposition didn’t exactly invite a good rapport.

But then, she _had_ seen how sweet he could be on rare occasions. Practicing at archery with his little sister, Arya; helping the new campers lug their heavy baggage across the grounds in the pouring rain; collapsing in a fit of laughter after failing to break up a food fight in the mess hall.

So while Dany’s first instinct was a smug sort of victory over this revelation, her own soft heart felt a hint of pity for Jon’s current humiliation.

“He always watches you,” Ned continued calmly. The boy may as well have been reporting on the weather for all his nonchalance instead of embarrassing the seven hells out of his counselor. “Especially when you’re swimming.”

It was Dany’s turn to flush now at the memory of Jon’s obsidian gaze following her out of the lake in her barely-there bikini. Before, she’d been irritated by that attention but now . . . now it made her curiously excited.

“Enough,” Jon interjected suddenly, his voice like a whip. Dany dared a glance at his face to see it darkened with anger as he laid an authoritative hand on Ned’s shoulder. “Quit telling tales and go find your friends. You’d better learn some respect or there’ll be a call to your parents when we get back.”

Ned nodded at him, looking not the least bit worried about punishment as he hurried away to find his friends. Ned, like all the boys, seemed to know that underneath his sour moods and smoldering pouts, Jon Snow was actually a bit of a softy. He hated punishing the campers.

Dany wasn’t sure what to say in the silence that followed Ned’s departure. Part of her wanted to gloat a bit to match the teasing Jon always seemed to throw her way. Another part of her sought to comfort his agitation.

“It’s like you said—they’re just kids,” she assured him carefully. “Ned doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just playing around with you.”

Jon was having none of it.

“Obviously,” he spat. With that, he stalked past her to walk alongside the boys well ahead.

* * *

 

“That’s excellent work! You’ve got your tent up even before Mr. Jon managed his.” Dany stood upright from where she’d been crouched to examine Myrcella Baratheon’s handiwork. She was a bright girl, showing an affinity for everything from horsemanship to fishing. The fact that a girl as sweet and intelligent as she was related to the likes of Joffrey was a bit of an enigma.

Dany’s praise was interrupted by the feeling of someone glaring from behind her.

“My tent’s more than twice the size of theirs. It’s _different_ ,” Jon interjected.

“Of course, Head Counselor Snow,” she drawled sarcastically. “Forgive my comment. I’m just so proud of Myrcella, you see.”

Jon paused, uncertain of whether to continue bickering in front of the campers. “As you should be,” he allowed after a moment. “And it’s nice of you to assist all your girls like that. But you need to get your own tent ready. It’s getting darker every minute.”

He was right, but Dany had been intent on making sure the girls were all squared away before she worried with her setup. Assessing the campsite around them, she saw Ned and Alys Karstark dragging sturdy logs through the clearing to use as benches next to the campfire while Joffrey worked at starting it. Armed with a piece of flint and some kindling, he wasn’t very successful, his rage growing visibly with every failed strike of the stone.

Dany sighed, squatting next to the boy as he ground his teeth together in frustration. He really was the worst possible choice of all the children when it came to this particular chore. _Genius plan, Jon_ , she thought, exasperated. _Give fire to the sadist kid with anger issues._ But she had to admit that was one of the good qualities she’d noticed in Jon Snow—he never gave up on anyone. Even the most troublesome children had a special place _somewhere_ at camp under Jon’s supervision. It was endearing to see him so determined to help people. Even The Little Shit himself.

“Let me show you,” she offered quietly as Joffrey exhausted himself striking the flint again and again.

“I can do it on my own,” he ground out angrily, angling his body away from Dany.

“Evidently not.”

Dany glanced up to see Jon observing Joffrey’s progress—or lack thereof—with disappointment.

“Accepting help is part of learning, Joff,” he added, folding his arms over his chest.

“Fine!” the boy shrieked, throwing down his tools in a huff and taking a seat on one of the log benches. “I don’t see why we’re even bothering with this nonsense. Give me a box of matches or a lighter any day.”

Dany clicked her tongue and shook her head at him.

“Taking the easy way out of everything isn’t going to get you anywhere in life, Joffrey.”

“It will if you’ve got as much money as his family has. Spoiled brat,” Lyanna said bitterly, wrinkling her nose at him. The other kids snickered at the girl’s jab, but Joffrey looked positively murderous as he squirmed in his seat on the bench.

“Please, all of you, focus,” Dany scolded. “Watch me.”

Joffrey scoffed at that but made no further comment as Dany gathered the handful of moss and dead grass that he’d been using for kindling.

“You need just a little more than what you had here,” she explained, holding the palmful of kindling out for the others to see in the dying light. “I’ll just need a flashlight to find a bit more.”

“Here you go, Ms. Dany.” She looked up at the tiny voice and into the freckled face of Olly, the shyest of all the boys. If nothing else, it seemed he was a good listener.

“Thank you, Olly.” Dany smiled kindly and accepted the bundle of tiny broken twigs from the boy’s grasp, adding them to what she already had in a small nest at the base of the logs. Next, she retrieved a pocketknife from the back pocket of her shorts and held it out over the flint.

“You want to angle your flint down so any sparks fall right into the kindling.” Flipping open the knife, Dany scraped it vigorously along the stone until hot, red sparks rained upon the little nest. The kindling quickly caught fire despite the humid, evening air.

Dropping her knife and flint she hunkered down over the sluggish flame and blew on it encouragingly, watching it grow taller and brighter. Finally, she arranged the neatly chopped logs over the flame to fuel its progress, and sat back on her heels with a grin.

“Easy.”

The circle of watching children oo-ed and ah-ed giddily over the warm, orange glow and Dany’s quick work of it, but Jon seemed most surprised of all.

“I’m impressed,” he remarked, as she stood and faced him. “That was fast.”

Dany shrugged, dusting her hands off on her shorts as the children scrambled for seats around the merrily-crackling flames.

“I’ve always liked fire,” she said.

He arched a brow at her curiously.

“Not in a weird, pyromaniac sort of way.”

Jon chuckled.

“In what sort of way, then?”

“I don’t know. I just . . . like it. It’s warm and lovely. Everything looks a little prettier in firelight, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, his voice nearly a whisper. Dany could see the flames reflected back at her in his dark eyes, but it was her own eyes he was staring into when he said, “Beautiful.”

Her skin erupted into gooseflesh at the word, at the deep, husky tone she’d never heard in his voice before. She averted her eyes and smoothed her hair reflexively, feeling unaccountably anxious.

“Right,” she said, louder than she’d meant to. “Well, who wants some marshmallows?”

* * *

 

Gathered around the fire’s orangey-red light, Jon supervised the campers as they affixed fluffy, white marshmallows to the cleanest sticks they could find. They were toasting away happily when Dany made the unfortunate discovery.

 _Shit_. She rummaged desperately through her pack, flashlight held aloft between her teeth to illuminate its contents. But she knew that no matter how long she rifled around her belongings, it wouldn’t change anything—her tent poles were gone, and her sleeping bag . . . ruined.

Enraged, Dany hastily shouldered her pack before stomping into the circle around the fire.

“Who did this?” she demanded, unceremoniously upending her bag and spilling its contents to the forest floor.

Out tumbled the sturdy, waterproof material of her camping tent, followed by miscellaneous items like her water bottle, dried fruit, sunglasses, and change of clothes. Her tent poles were conspicuously absent, the material pooling in a useless, wrinkled pile. The last item to exit the pack was her sleeping bag. It was her favorite one—decorated with black and red ikat. But the usually vivid design was darkened with wetness, and it emitted the unmistakably rank odor of lake water as it hit the ground with a sickening splat.

“I’ll ask you again. Who did this?” Dany repeated, her voice clipped with fury.

Simultaneously, every eye in the camp swiveled to Joffrey where he sat alone at the edges of the circle, a marshmallow stick in each hand.

“What?” he asked petulantly, glaring around at them all. “It wasn’t _me_.”

“Oh?” Dany asked through gritted teeth. “Tell me, who else in this camp would sabotage a counselor this way?”

“It’s not my job to police your lackeys,” he replied icily. “And I’ve got better things to do than to meddle with _you_.”

Dany let out a shaking breath and threw up her hands in resignation.

“You know what? Fine. It doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that I haven’t got a tent.”

Joffrey sniggered at her cruelly.

“You’re the resident survivor woman. Why not just camp out under the stars?”

“You’d best shut your mouth, boy, or I’ll be confiscating _your_ tent,” Jon warned him.

“She can’t sleep outside without a sleeping bag,” Myrcella added quickly.

Lyanna Mormont nodded in agreement.

“Right. And besides, it looks like rain.”

As if on cue, an ugly peal of thunder rumbled across the forest at the girl’s words, and Dany jumped in surprise. She’d known a bit of rain was likely, but the whole situation was putting her on edge.

“The rain should hold off for a few hours, and if not, I’ve slept in worse.” Jon assured them. “So I’ll stay outside. All I need is a blanket. Dany, you can have my tent.”

“Oh, I could never,” she replied instantly, but Jon held up a hand to stop her.

“You can, and you will. And Joffrey,” Jon addressed him coldly. “We’ll be investigating this when we get back tomorrow.”

“What do I care?” the boy snarled in reply.

* * *

 

The minor disturbance of Dany’s ruined camping gear did little to dampen the children’s spirits, and before long they were enthusiastically telling stories in turns.

“And legend has it that after they’ve caught you, they _eat_ you! Then there’s no evidence left at all,” Lyanna finished with a sinister giggle, the flashlight upturned under her chin casting her face in ghoulish shadows.

“You shouldn’t joke about things like that,” Olly said, looking disturbed.

Dany found herself shivering in her place beside Jon before the campfire. The story of the Thenns wasn’t especially frightening—just another weird urban legend. And she didn’t believe in wood-bound cannibals anyway. But something about the tales of the missing hikers resonated with her as she sat watching over a group of children _on a hike_.

Jon seemed to sense her apprehension and he turned to face her with a roguish twist of his mouth.

“Scared? I would’ve thought it would take more than campfire stories to frighten a tough girl like you.” He elbowed her softly in the ribs for good measure.

“I’m _not_ scared,” Dany protested defensively. “Just got a chill is all.”

“Here.” Jon set down his canteen, shrugging out of his black jacket and draping it over Dany’s bared, slender shoulders. It was a godsend considering that every other spare article of her clothing was currently sodden with pond scum.

“Thank you.” She pulled it close and leaned forward to the fire. The jacket had a soft, flannel lining and smelled faintly of cologne and cigarettes. _Like Jon_ , a scent that she’d never registered as familiar before now.

Glancing at him sheepishly out of the corner of her eye, she watched the intermittent shadows and light from the flames as they danced across his face, lighting his espresso-colored eyes one moment and obscuring them in the next.

_Yep. Still handsome._

“Want one?” he asked, holding a freshly-made s’more out to her.

Dany had been too preoccupied sulking about her ruined pack and staring daggers at Joffrey across the fire to make her own dessert before, and she gladly accepted Jon’s offering. She loved s’mores. They were delicious and comforting, reminding her of her childhood. Back before her mother died she used to make them for Dany and her brother every time they went “camping” out in the backyard.

“It’s perfect,” she told Jon gratefully around a mouthful of gooey marshmallow.

“Anyway,” Ned Umber was saying nearby. “It’s not the cannibals you have to worry about around here. “It’s the bears.”

Dany scoffed uncertainly.

“There aren’t any bears in these woods”

“Of course there are,” the boy answered. “Brown bears.”

She turned to Jon with wide eyes.

“He’s not serious?”

Jon snorted at her with a confused shake of his head.

“Of course, he’s not messing with you. Lots of forests have bears, you know.”

“There’s loads of bears where I come from,” Lyanna added. “They’re enormous. Bigger than Mr. Jon’s whole tent. It’s too bad you didn’t bring that wolf dog of yours along.” She gestured to Jon. “I’ll bet he could scare away anything, even a bear.”

“The odds of an attack on our camp are really slim, Ms. Dany,” Myrcella chimed in, flashing her an understanding smile as she came over and plopped down in front of Dany’s crossed legs. “And besides, I’ll bet Mr. Jon would protect you.”

Myrcella winked at Dany’s confusion and before she or Jon could say anything, leaned her head back toward Dany’s lap.

“Help me with this, will you? I think you braided them too tight today,” Myrcella complained as Dany helped the girl to take down the intricate knots of hair she’d fixed for her before the hike. Myrcella had requested her help—like many of the girls did—to keep their hair off their necks in the heat, admiring Dany’s own signature braided style. But her fingers weren’t as deft at braiding others’ hair as they were her own, and it never seemed to come out quite right. Today was no exception, and Myrcella had looked a bit wacky when Dany was done with her, especially with the pink, sparkly hair ties the younger girl had insisted on using.

“Even I could have done a better job than that,” Jon observed from her left. He’d been keeping his place a couple feet away and trying to inconspicuously eye her handiwork for the last five minutes. It was irritating.

“You know, Jon, even you aren’t an expert at _everything_. And besides, what would you know about fixing a girl’s hair?” Dany handed the discarded, glittery elastics to Myrcella, raising a challenging brow to Jon.

“Well, my sister Arya used to braid her hair when we took the horses for a ride. Only the wind would always pull it loose and she couldn’t see properly with it all in her face like that so I used to fix it for her on the trail.”

 _Oh_. She hadn’t expected a serious answer. There was something oddly endearing about the thought of a younger Jon carefully plaiting his little sister’s hair off in some meadow.

“So that’s why I know that you should have used French braids,” he finished impetuously, summoning a scowl back to Dany’s face.

“You know,” Myrcella interjected, standing up from her place at Dany’s feet and shaking her newly-freed, golden hair back over her shoulders. “My dad says if boys are always picking on you it means they like you.”

“That’s just silly,” Jon argued, his nostrils flaring with anger.

“I’ve heard that saying before,” Dany replied, ignoring him. “I’ve always hated it.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she spoke. He seemed pleased by her disagreement with the old adage, but still indignant at what Myrcella had been suggesting.

“Well, that’s good, because it’s a load of bull,” he insisted.

Myrcella laughed and twirled around to face Dany.

“Why do you hate it, Ms. Dany? My mom does, too.”

“Because it’s _not_ a load of bull,” Dany began, glaring pointedly at Jon. “Sometimes boys will be cruel or pick on you because they’re insecure about their feelings. But that’s no excuse for treating girls poorly.”

“Wow,” the young girl marveled, nodding to herself as if working through a great epiphany. “That explains a lot.”

“God, Dany. They’re _kids_ ,” Jon sighed as Myrcella scurried off back to her seat. “Is the psychology lesson really necessary?”

“Fine,” Dany relented. “Share _your_ wisdom on the subject. I’m listening.”

He did not immediately answer, instead fiddling nervously with a leaf he’d picked up from the dirt between them.

“Maybe a man acts like an idiot because he knows the woman of his dreams can’t stand him, but he still has to see her all the time. And every time he tries talking to her, he fucks it up.” Jon looked into the fire as he spoke, carefully avoiding Dany’s eyes on him when he’d finished.

 _That was weirdly specific._ She stared at his profile thoughtfully, surprised into speechlessness. Could it be that he was juvenile enough to torment her so because he _liked_ her? Surely not. That was the sort of thing one expected from their pre-teen campers. Still, Jon Snow wasn’t exactly known around camp for his warmth or good communication skills.

“Wow, it’s a miracle,” Jon announced after a moment. “For once in your life you can’t think of a way to argue with me.”

* * *

 

By the time the fire was dying down to embers, everyone had run out of stories to tell and sweets to eat, and all the campers had gone off to bed in their respective tents.

Dany was dozing in her seat when Jon tapped her arm to wake her.  Opening her eyes slowly, she felt warmth against her side and realized that she’d tipped over in her sleep, resting her head on Jon’s shoulder. She jolted upright, shaking her head to clear out the fog of exhaustion and the smoke coming off the campfire.

“I guess I fell asleep. I’m, uh. I’m sorry,” she muttered to Jon, mortified.

“Uh, you can go inside now,” he told her, nodding awkwardly at her apology before pointing to his cozy-looking tent just behind them.

Dany nodded and then turned back to face him. He was close enough for her to smell the coffee on his breath, and in her sleepy half-confusion it almost seemed like he was staring at her mouth.

“You’ve, um, got something,” he whispered. “Just there.”

Jon reached out and wiped lightly at the edge of her mouth, his thumb brushing along the side of her lips. His hand was warm and rough and she leaned her head almost imperceptibly forward as he pulled away, involuntarily following his touch.

“Chocolate,” he said by way of explanation, showing Dany the smudge of it on the pad of his thumb.

“Oh,” she said simply.

With that, he pressed his thumb to his own mouth and licked it.

Dany was struck dumb by the sight, staring openly at the flash of his wet tongue. There was something indescribably intimate about what he’d done, and it woke her up with a jolt. She felt a heat wholly apart from the fire blooming between her legs and she swallowed, hard, keenly aware of how dry her own tongue felt in her mouth.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice coming out high and strange. She took off his jacket and handed it over, a little reluctant to part with its protective cover. “Good night.”

Dany stood up on wobbly legs and tried to ignore the pitiful sight of Jon’s little pallet—a single plaid blanket and a rolled-up pair of pants for a pillow—near the embers of the campfire. By comparison, his lantern-lit tent looked like a five-star hotel. And the low grumbles of thunder continued to disrupt the quiet with their warning of rain to come. He had his waterproof jacket, at least, yet still she felt wrong and selfish to take his tent.

A tiny voice in her head advised that she offer to share the tent with Jon. It was the right thing to do. Ordinarily she would have shunned the thought out of her distaste for Jon’s company and her reluctance to spend more time with him than was absolutely necessary. But now, tonight, she feared inviting him into the tent for entirely different reasons.

For the first time, she _wanted_ his company. Wanted it more than she’d ever admit. It didn’t make sense. It was _Jon_. He was Sansa’s brother! He was stubborn and argumentative. He was proud and broody and impulsive and dull.

But he was a lot of other things, too. He smelled nice, even after hiking all day. He had a criminally great ass that she found herself eyeing against her better judgment when he wore those gratuitously tight swim trunks. And every time he laughed she always wound up smiling, no matter how infuriating or annoying he was being.

But none of those things justified taking him to bed, so she zipped herself inside the tent without looking back.

* * *

 

Dany had been Head Girls’ Counselor at Camp Winterfell for three months now, and this necessarily meant she’d been in a bit of a sexual dry spell. It didn’t help matters that Sansa’s summer was turning out to be a sapphic sex romp of epic proportions. Dany had the special privilege of playing audience to all the sordid details of her bunkmate’s secret rendezvous with Margaery—the camp’s gardener who’d caught Sansa’s eye by pruning the azaleas outside their cabin wearing nothing but a swimsuit. And while Dany was more than happy for her friend, to say that she herself was sexually frustrated was a bit of an understatement.

Tonight, she’d expected that grisly images of hill country cannibals and ravenous bears would haunt her through the night, that fear would steal the wee hours away from her and leave her with another restless evening.

She was only half right.

For what felt like hours after she retired to Jon’s tent and got comfortable in its dark quiet, sleep eluded her. Dany lied on top of his plush, fur-lined sleeping bag, judging it too warm to wrap up in on this particular night. Even outside the bag’s warmth, the fabric carried the same scent she’d recognized on his jacket: a faint, musky cologne and those cigarettes he always rolled for himself. The smell felt overwhelming when there was nothing else to hold her attention, and as she lied there waiting for rest, it wasn’t bear fangs or cold-blooded murderers that invaded her thoughts.

Every time Dany closed her eyes, she saw Jon’s dark gaze staring at her. Alone in the tent, she could almost feel the phantom warmth of his body at her side that she’d noticed by the fire before.

It made her angry. She’d spent the better part of the summer daydreaming about giving Jon a well-deserved slap in the face. Anything to put him in his place for all his disagreeable coldness, and that tendency he had to challenge her authority at every turn.

But now she thought that instead of slapping that face she might like to trace her fingers along his fine jaw. She wanted to feel his thick, black stubble under her fingertips, to test the softness of his lips before kissing them.

She supposed she might as well admit to herself that she wanted to kiss him, had wanted to for awhile now, if she was honest. Right now, his kiss would taste like chocolate and the coffee he’d brewed over the fire, and kissing him might lead to other things. The sorts of things one certainly didn’t teach to campers, but Dany was just itching to give Jon a lesson or two.

It was these thoughts that guided her hand down her shorts, edging underneath her panties so she could touch herself there. Her fingers found the slick warmth of her sex eagerly, and she imagined they were Jon’s fingers instead.

Dany pictured his face, lit with firelight, but drawn with that same, focused frown he got when he was reading a hiking map or shooting practice targets at the range out behind the horse pasture. Something told her Jon applied that same intensity and attention to detail when it came to pleasuring a woman, and the thought alone was almost enough to finish her off.

She dipped two fingers into her wetness, wondering how the scars she’d seen on his right hand would feel inside her. He’d be firm and sure as he traced his touch over her sensitive cunt, murmuring filth at her ear in that gravelly voice while he fucked her with his fingers.

Dany let a small moan escape her lips at the thought of his hands on her, _in_ her. The fact that a mere bit of tarp and less than ten feet of distance was all that separated her from the object of her desire only heightened her arousal. The possibility of being caught in such a compromising position, the wrongness of touching herself at a time like this, it was all so illicitly _hot_.

So she was more than a little busy when the first spatter of raindrops made their noisy landing on the roof of the tent. At first, she welcomed the arrival of the rain, thinking only of how it might drown out the sound of her panting breaths. She was too absorbed in her fantasy of Jon to consider that the worsening weather would rouse the man himself.

But after a few minutes had passed, she heard a surprised exclamation of, “Fuck!” followed by frantic scuffling just outside. The sound was dampened by the increasing volume of rain falling overhead, but Dany had just enough time to freeze in surprise before Jon was unzipping the tent flap and scrambling in out of the downpour.

The sliver of moonlight from the clearing illuminated the interior dimly and he sucked in an astonished breath when he saw her. Atop the sleeping bag, Dany had no covers to hide her shame, nothing to conceal her hand thrust down inside her shorts.

At first she was too shocked to move at all. She wanted to withdraw her hand from its obscene position but the embarrassment was simply too extreme. It was like living out one of those recurring nightmares she used to have where she would drive to school, get to class, and sit down, only to realize she was stark naked in front of everyone she knew. Yes, just like those nightmares only she couldn’t wake up from this one. Apparently, she couldn’t do anything except to stare back at Jon’s wide eyes, watching his expression morph slowly from surprise and confusion to . . . something else.

He let the tent flap fall closed then and darkness cloaked them for a few blissful breaths until Dany’s eyes adjusted and Jon’s silhouette materialized before her, still sitting up on his knees. The bit of cloud-darkened moonlight that filtered through the tent’s fabric didn’t do enough to reveal his face to her fully, but she expected disgust and maybe a derisive sort of amusement to follow. He would never let her live this down.

She ought to say something, _anything_ to break the stalemate between them but even her usually sharp and diplomatic mind was coming up empty. What did one say in situations like these?

_Yes, good evening, Jon. So sorry you found me wanking in your tent while you tried to sleep through a monsoon just outside._

Jon seemed equally speechless and for one shining moment Dany thought maybe he’d save them both the embarrassment and just leave—back out of the tent the way he’d come. Then they could both go back to publicly disliking one another and pretend this had never happened. Surely even the rain out there was preferable to _this_.

But Jon didn’t back out. Instead, his palms found the floor and he crawled haltingly toward her. Just a step at first. Then another, and even in the dim light he was near enough she could make out the almost predatory glint in his eye, all primal and raw, nothing like the scorn she’d thought to find there.

Dany held her breath, resisting the urge to shrink back from his approach. It was almost frightening, being on the other end of _that_ look when she was out here at his mercy in the dark seclusion of the tent. But she wasn’t frightened. She was surprised and intrigued and ridiculously horny.

Jon let his eyes fall from her face to her hand—still inert at its shameful post down her panties—and licked his lips. A hunger of her own rose to meet him then. The man she’d just been two fingers deep and craving was looking at her like a wolf prowling a lamb.

Dany intended to show him that she wasn’t as meek as all that.

She drew her hand up and clear of her shorts finally so she might sit forward and do something, anything to alleviate the tension that charged the air between them. But Jon loomed nearer over her and without warning his own hand shot out and caught her wrist.

Her pulse throbbed between her legs, breath hitching violently when he sniffed her sticky fingers like someone considering a fine wine.

“I was thinking of you,” she murmured suddenly, fighting to remain motionless in his grasp.

Jon said nothing, instead pressing his lips to her hand, and Dany shivered when he sucked two fingers into his mouth. The warm sweep of his tongue scoured them clean before he released them with a soft smack.

It was impossibly erotic, the sight of him savoring the taste of her like that, and before they’d even so much as kissed properly.

Perhaps she ought to fix that.

Jon seemed to have the same thought, and he yanked her closer by the wrist he still held at the same moment that Dany rose up on her knees toward him. The resulting crash of their mouths in the dark was hard enough to hurt, artless and desperate.

Dany was passionate by nature, emotional and reactive. To remedy that she did everything with careful planning and forethought. Even relationships. But she hadn’t planned whatever this was with Jon Snow. On the contrary, she’d planned to avoid him at all costs.

So it was liberating to let her instincts alone drive her now, to go only by feel and want and need. Her lips opened readily for his entreating tongue, and the tang of her own arousal in his mouth was strange and enticing in equal measure.

It was only when his hands slid down to grip her hips that she noticed Jon had released her wrist at last. Dany took the opportunity to touch him all over with her newly liberated hands, dragging her fingers through the tangles in his soft, rain-soaked hair; ghosting her palms over the scrape of his stubbled cheeks; tracing the lines of muscle she could feel through his clothes along his back as she wrapped her arms around him.

He caught her lower lip between his teeth and pinched it there in a momentary sensation of painful pleasure, and she gasped delightedly into his mouth. He was a lovely kisser, somehow aggressive and gentle at once, and she was just hitting her stride at kissing him back when she felt his fingers tugging up at the hem of her top.

“No,” she said firmly, pulling back from his mouth to catch her breath. “You first.”

His hands left her waist with a swear under his breath as he flung his jacket off and pulled his t-shirt over his head.

“You always have to control everything, don’t you?” he asked her, shaking his head. “Even this.”

“Especially this.”

Jon chuckled, jerking his belt loose and shoving his pants hastily down. He’d only just managed to wriggle them free of his ankles before applying his mouth roughly to the side of her neck.

Some small, demented part of her hoped he’d mark her there, leave some evidence that this wasn’t all a dream. It still seemed impossible that the man whose neck she’d wanted to wring for all summer was now sucking her own neck. And she was loving it, trembling in his arms excitedly like they were a couple of teenagers in the backseat of his car.

This time when he tried to take her shirt she let him, gladly, lifting her arms until her fingertips brushed the nylon roof of the tent. When she was free of the shirt she’d wanted to kiss him again, eager for the novelty of Jon’s lips on her lips, anywhere on her skin, really. But he pulled back and she could feel him looking her over, even though there was scarce enough light to see by in the little tent’s darkness.

She’d never really been the timid sort, so she decided to save him the trouble of unclasping her bra, exposing what little of her breasts he could see to his roving eyes.

“God,” he rasped at her in the dark. “You’re sexy, Dany. You’ve always been sexy, you know that?”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that so instead she said, “Now you,” and grabbed at the waistband of his boxers.

“Of course, you know it,” he went on, even as he awkwardly removed his boxers in the close confines of the tent. “That’s why you’re always frolicking around in that little bikini. Torturing me.”

Dany snorted, her fingers finding his cock in the dark, exploring the velvety hot thickness of him in her hand.

“Torturing you?” she asked, stroking her grip firmly up and down his shaft. “It’s because I’m _swimming_ Jon, it’s got nothing to do with you watching—,”

“Liar,” he growled, pulling her in for another kiss, and Dany let her sentence trail off, groaning into Jon’s open mouth, her hand releasing his hard girth between them.

 _Yes_ , she thought, as he shoved her shorts from her hips with clumsy fingers, taking her panties, too. _I suppose I did want you to see me, enough to ruin my powder blue bikini with that disgusting lake water._ But she’d never tell him so.

She caught a breath of air as his kisses moved lower, dallying at her throat, where her pulse pounded staccato with adrenaline, before venturing over her collarbone and to her chest. It was warm in the tent now, too warm. Outside the summer heat had abated with the sunset and the arrival of the rain. But the small tent trapped all their body heat inside, and the humidity did nothing to help that. She could feel the sweat beading on her skin as Jon drug his tongue over her languorously. But despite the heat she was all broken out in goose pimples, her nerves afire with anticipation.

When his lips finally closed over one nipple she could have come right then from the relief, from _some_ sort of sensual contact. Her nails dug in behind his shoulders to hold him fast against her as he laved over the puckered flesh, teasing it between his teeth, hard, and then sucking it harder.

He was good with his mouth, enough to make her wonder what he could do with it down below. Enough to make her hope she’d find out eventually. But she didn’t have the patience for all that. Not tonight. Not when she’d waited so long.

Sliding her hands up over his shoulders and splaying her palms upon his chest, Dany shoved him onto his back, following him down before he could protest. He groaned when her lips tasted the first salty patch of his skin beneath his Adam’s apple, the sound vibrating through them both as she explored his body, testing the sensitivity of his flesh beneath her mouth. His chest and stomach were hard and cut with muscle, every bit as firm and manly as she’d imagined all those days eyeing him by the water. Only better.

When her hands wrapped around his manhood again he hissed in surprise, his hands coming up to her hips, sliding over her ass, gripping her there. Like her, he wanted to control the situation, she knew. That only made her more intent on making _him_ lose that control.

She brushed a thumb over the tip of him where a pearly drop of fluid had gathered, and spread it down the length. She had the impulse to dip her face lower and lick him dry, to take him in her mouth and  suckle him mercilessly until he was spent. But she’d save that for another time, make him wait and want and imagine her that way.

After a few quick pumps of her hand down his cock— _Stiff enough to hold up any tent_ , she thought with a smirk—he was gasping and bucking against her but she wouldn’t allow him to finish. Not yet. Not like this.

So she slackened her grip and rose to her knees, positioning herself to sheath him inside her. She’d more than prepared herself by her own hand before his unexpected arrival in the tent, and it was high time they both found their satisfaction.

But then Jon sat up, forcing her backward this time, his scarred right hand snaking up between her thighs. The first brush of his fingers over her slick folds was enough to make her jerk under him, and he scoffed, his breath hot at her neck as he bent over her.

“You’re wetter than I am, and you were safe from the rain in here,” he purred, pushing a finger up inside her as he spoke.

When he added his middle finger and crooked them both inside her Dany bit her own tongue, her hands groping uselessly at the sleeping bag beneath her.

“Everyone else, they all think you’re so perfect, don’t they? The princess of camp,” Jon was muttering, his lips brushing over the peak of one breast with every word. “So good and dutiful and sweet. But you’re a dirty little thing, really.”

“You have,” she panted, closing her eyes against the unbearable friction of his thumb on her clitoris. “No idea.”

“So show me.”

Dany gasped, shaking when his fingers were replaced, without warning, by the whole hard length of him. His hand shot up to cover her mouth, as if anticipating the sharp cry of surprised ecstasy at the first thrust of his hips. The rain still drumming in little pitter patters on the tent was enough to dull their gasping breaths and little grunts but only the rough heel of Jon’s palm could block her cries as he seated himself inside her. Her walls constricted around him, inviting him deeper, and every push made her shiver from tail to toe with the glorious bliss of his cock kissing the core of her pleasure.

She wanted to show him. She wanted to flip them both over and ride him with all the ferocity that came with her months of pent-up lust. But there was something freeing and transcendent about relinquishing control to Jon, letting him hold her and kiss her and fuck her the way she _wanted_ so badly to be held and kissed and fucked. By him. Only by him, in spite of everything.

And it was like they were strangely in sync again when she opened her eyes and tried to meet his in the frustrating darkness, moved by a moment of unexpected tenderness at just how good it felt, having him inside her. The slide of his dewy skin on hers, the way her body fit together with his just so, so that every powerful thrust made her see stars despite the storm-clouded sky.

When he pressed his sweat-slick forehead to hers, and whispered, “Dany,” in a soft, broken voice, she came, whimpering her pleasure quietly into his hand over her lips. The force of her climax pulled him over the precipice behind her and Jon pulled out in time to spill on her belly. She had only a moment to react before he’d wiped her clean with his discarded t-shirt and collapsed over her, breathless with exertion.

For a paralyzing moment she wondered what would happen now. Would it be awkward in that post-coital limbo, with Jon rolling off her and sitting silent until the rain abated? Would he leave the tent and her inside it, pretending none of it had ever happened?

But then she got her answer in the form of his big, warm hand, pushing away the hair that clung to her forehead as he planted a kiss there, then the tip of her nose, then her lips.

“Move over, princess. Believe it or not there’s room for more than that pretty ass of yours in this sleeping bag.”

* * *

 

The next morning she woke with all the bleary confusion of a sleepless night, naked with only the corner of the sleeping bag covering her around the hips. She sat up suddenly when memories of the previous evening started filtering in, but she was alone in the tent. All save for a handful of freshly-picked wildflowers, still adorned with morning dew and raindrops, laid out beside her.

She gathered them up gingerly, her heart tugging pleasantly at the thought of Jon picking them for her at sunup.

She dressed quickly in her clothes from the day before, and when she first poked her head free of the tent, Jon’s was the first face she saw, helping Olly to shove his deconstructed tent back into his pack. He blushed deeply, and she half-expected some rude quip or insulting greeting, back to the way things were before.

Instead he gave her the shyest, sweetest smile she’d ever seen, and she couldn’t help but return it in kind.

The trek back was uncomfortable at first, with her and Jon trading uncertain glances and brushing knuckles as they walked side-by-side, but never really holding hands, never really looking one another in the eye.

It took Joffrey hurling Olly off the path and into a stream in a fit of anger to break the ice, and after intervening in a fight between all the boys things seemed to feel more natural for the rest of the day.

They parted without ceremony when they reached the camp, and back in her cabin Dany had to field a thousand questions from Sansa before her friend happily recounted her own eventful night at the lake with Margaery.

It was only when Dany went to unload her pack that she noticed it was heavier than it had been the day before. Inside she saw her missing tentpoles—every last one of them—all held together by a trio of sparkly, pink hair bands.

_Myrcella._

Folded neatly on top of all the pack’s contents was a note, a little damp from her still-wet sleeping bag. Opening it carefully, Dany recognized Lyanna’s neat hand.

_“Accepting help is part of learning,” Ms. Dany._

_Hopeless little minions_ , she thought fondly, shaking her head. She’d need to chastise them for swiping her things. But not yet.

“Wow,” Sansa interrupted her reverie. “You look really  _happy_. Has my grouchy brother finally charmed you after all this time?”

“What? No,” Dany snorted, perhaps a little too dramatically. “Of course not. Never.”

She really had to stop lying to Sansa _._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please drop a comment if you enjoyed <3


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